


Five long breems

by DarthKrande



Category: Transformers Generation One
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-19
Updated: 2013-01-19
Packaged: 2017-11-26 01:48:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/645192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarthKrande/pseuds/DarthKrande
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something I had to write for Prime! Short story short: Optimus comes across a copy of ReGeneration 85. He doesn't take it well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five long breems

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ha-Hee Prime](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Ha-Hee+Prime).



Soundwave walked up to the Tower, optics trained Prowl, mind open to the thoughts of all those Decepticons and Autobots around him. Five of his symbiotes stood guard at the perimeter while Ratbat counted the energon cubes Firestar brought to the Tower center.  
"One thousand and twenty-four, exactly" the once-senator stated.  
Prowl, the only Autobot who was privy with the details of the bet, nodded.

***

The two doors opened in perfect sync. The two leaders, eternal enemies who pushed each other repeatedly to their limits and beyond, stood there, outwardly calm, ready for their test of strength and will. 'I can do it' they both thought. 'I have done worst things before.'  
With that, the two slowly walked up to the other, hands reaching for their weapons on instinct, then holding themselves back as if they just remembered what the bet was about. Exactly 1024 cubes of high-grade were at stake. And their precious pride.  
And they walked past each other.  
Megatron's fist tightened. He. Would. Not. Break. First.  
Optimus turned around, not willing to let the other behind his back. The silence around them was as hard as a pure crystal. Their optics met again, wordlessly. He. Would. Not. Break.  
Megatron suddenly turned around and dropped into a nearby armchair. He took up a datapad from the table, and connected a wrist-wire to it. If he was not writing something, he was very good at pretending to be doing so.  
But, well, Decepticons were always good at pretending things.  
Optimus walked to the data shelf. There were so many documents, stories, and guides, on different media, in different formats. And the whole shelf was in a mess.  
The librarian programming urged him to start and reorganize these data-bearing media. But that would mean turning his back at his mortal enemy. No way. (Yes way?) He glanced up at Megatron. The old grey slagger was holding the datapad in his left palm, sending information, byte by byte, through his right wrist, silently watching as the words appeared on the screen. The once-a-miner was completely motionless. Hesitantly, Optimus turned around, and started packing the data-holders. Sometimes, he just looked at the time stamp, sometimes, he peered into a file, or made a mental snapshot of a painting. He kept glancing back at his nemesis, only to find him still writing on that datapad. Once, Megatron caught his sight, and looked up at him with a victorious grin. But they still didn't give a sound.  
A minute passed. A breem. Two breems. Three. Half an hour. Four breems. Optimus finished with one shelf, and went on to another. Megatron still wouldn't move.  
"What."  
Now the Decepticon looked up. "What 'what.'?"  
The Autobot leader was holding a comic book in his gentle dark blue hands, looking at the cover in horror. The Decepticon didn't even bother to check what it was. In fact, very few things could have bothered him in the middle of essay-writing, and a disbelieving expression from the Prime was not one of these. He could hardly count how often he'd seen that in the past million years.  
The Prime looked into the comic, and his face turned even darker by every page. Finally he'd dropped the paper down on the table in front of the red-opticed enemy.  
Megatron wasted about an astrosecond with staring at the cover, then - as if he'd shrugged it off. "Changing the roles, eh?" he murmured. "That's how it feels like to be me."  
Optimus almost replied something, but then he censored his own thoughts with a scratch of the helm.  
"Time's up!" suddenly Prowl announced.  
"Five breems: over" Soundwave verified.  
The silence, as if fragile glass, shattered to million tiny noises and sounds. Megatron stood up from the armchair, and handed the datapad over to the Autobot.  
"So. Tell me, Optimus Prime. Am I able to not destroy anything I touch for five breems, and create something, instead?"  
"And I, Megatron? Am I able to keep myself out of your way, and not be a hypocrite for the same five breems?"  
Both mechs nodded, but, as Megatron did so, his look fell on the comic still lying on the table in front of them.  
"I'm not sure about the hypocrisy part" he smirked.  
"You're a jerk!"  
"1024 cubes of high grade: ours."  
The huge gun-grey mech laughed triumphantly. The five breems were over: now he could afford to be a jerk.  
Then, his laughter was cut abrubtly as Prime fell on him and hugged him as if there was no tomorrow. Maybe he should have expected that, but he did not.  
"Jerk" Optimus repeated. "But I'm so happy that you're ALIVE!"


End file.
